Defining a Relationship
by SciFiGeek14
Summary: A series of quick glimpses into the interactions between Kurt and Sebastian that lead up to and then continue through their relationship. Some will be in Kurt's POV and some in Seb's. I'm sure you can figure it out. The words and definitions I have stated and have been inspired by are all from Inspired by words from www(.)dictionaryofobscuresorrows(.)com
1. la gaudière

Inspired by words from www / . ()) dictionaryofobscuresorrows / . (()) com

The Definitions and words used in this story are from there. I do not own them. Please don't sue me.

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1.

la gaudière

n. the glint of goodness inside people, which you can only find by sloshing them back and forth in your mind until everything dark and gray and common falls away, leaving behind a constellation at the bottom of the pan—a rare element trapped in exposed bedrock, washed there by a storm somewhere upstream.

* * *

I'd gone back to Dalton at the request of Jeff who, along with Trent and Nick, wanted to repair our friendship that had gotten damaged in the Sebastian versus New Directions debacle. It meant a lot to me that they were doing that. Blaine had wanted to come but had been forced to stay late to make up a test he'd missed when he was out due to his eye injury.

I was walking out to my car, glad to escape the sea of blazers and promising myself that the next meet up would have to be at my place, when I heard the tell-tale choking sound of someone trying to silence their crying. I knew this sound from when I used to hide in the empty stalls between lunch my freshmen year. I only ever cried once, the guys in the stalls next to me were not always as brave and stubborn as I.

Curiosity caused me to follow the sound and the scene I found was startling. Sitting on the ground near the wheel of a Cadillac was a young boy, perhaps a freshmen. He was sobbing as quietly as he could, his face in his hands. Crouched in front of him, with a hand on his arm, was Sebastian Smythe.

I immediately ducked behind a truck.

"Hey, it's okay." I heard Sebastian's attempt to calm the boy. He was speaking softly, so softly I had to strain to hear him.

"My- my parents are g-going to kill me." The boy sobbed.

"No they aren't."

"I've never gotten a C – a C m-minus before on an-anything."

"Dalton is tough work. It is a hard transition for a lot people. One low grade isn't the end of the world. You'll get into the swing of things."

This was a side of Sebastian I didn't know existed. I didn't know he could be comforting or caring without there being something in it for him. He usually had an agenda. But if he had one now, I couldn't for the life of me figure out what it was.

"Go and talk to the professor about how you can make up your grade and if you are still struggling, Dalton has tutors." The boy sniffled.

"Th- thanks, Sebastian."

"No problem, kid. It's my first year here too. Us newbies gotta stick together. From here on out, I got your back."

"Really?"

"Sure thing. Come on. I'll give you a ride home since you've probably missed the bus by now."

I listened to the shuffle of them standing and getting into the Cadillac. I waited until I heard its engines fade until I poked my head back around the truck and wandered over towards were I had parked. The entire drive home I spent attempting to wrap my head around what I had just witnessed.


	2. fata organa

2.

fata organa:

n. a flash of real emotion glimpsed in someone sitting across the room, idly locked in the middle of some group conversation, their eyes glinting with vulnerability or quiet anticipation or cosmic boredom—as if you could see backstage through a gap in the curtains, watching stagehands holding their ropes at the ready, actors in costume mouthing their lines, fragments of bizarre sets waiting for some other production.

* * *

It went down in Lima as the great Show Choir Drug Scandal. I wasn't there when it all went down but I had been kept in the loop. I hadn't really thought about the repercussions though. Not until I found myself sitting back in the Lima Bean on a long weekend trying to avoid being seen by the group of Warblers that was crowding the back of the Bean.

They appeared to be arguing animatedly. Unfortunately for their privacy the Bean was too quiet to drown it out.

"Do you think this will affect my permanent record?"

"They can't revoke my application for this right? I mean I'm already in."

"Just be glad that we didn't get sent to juvie."

"Can we sue the school for negligence? I mean we were technically being blackmailed, right?"

It was a mess. They were all talking over each other and arms were a flurry of gesticulation. Someone knocked over a cup of coffee but it went mostly ignored, soaked up with some of those tri-fold brown recycled napkins and left in a pile.

I knew he was there, Sebastian. He hadn't spoken though. He had remained quiet through all of it, squeezing his fingers around the coffee cup in his hands, jaw set. Then I heard my answer.

"I mean, Sebastian already got put on academic probation at NYU before he even finished high school."

"Not to mention grounded for the rest of his life!"

"Dude! Be sensitive!"

I looked up and found myself staring into green eyes. He'd looked over at me at the same moment I had looked up and we accidently made eye contact. His eyes widened in shock almost immediately and he looked away but not before I saw a flicker of something that I hadn't seen since he'd called Blaine, Santana, Brittany, and I to the bean to apologize. It was regret, sadness, demise. It was heartbreak. And it reminded me that he was human, like the time I'd caught him helping a freshmen or that pained look he'd given after hurting Blaine.

I swallowed the rest of my coffee and left quickly, feeling like I was intruding just a little too much.


	3. opia

3.

opia

n. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable—their pupils glittering, bottomless and opaque—as if you were peering through a hole in the door of a house, able to tell that there's someone standing there, but unable to tell if you're looking in or looking out

* * *

"Thanks Asshole!" I exclaimed as all my sketch copies went fluttering to the ground after the body bumped into me near the exit of the subway. I heard a laugh and saw hands enter my peripheral vision as I struggled to gather them up. The hands gathered some of them and held them out to me.

"No need to call names, Kurt." My head shot up and I gasped.

"Sebastian?"

He didn't answer. He just stared at me. It was like he was staring into my soul. I wondered if I was blushing. I hadn't seen him in months. Not since Blaine's elaborate proposal at Dalton where he'd sung along with the others, smiling but rolling his eyes at the mushy romance.

"How- how are you?" I asked after a few seconds of staring at each other. He nodded congenially.

"I'm sorry I bumped into you." He sounded so polite. He wasn't smirking or anything.

"Sorry I called you an Asshole."

"I figure I'm probably due." There was the smirk I knew. I rolled my eyes, breaking our steady eye contact.

"Probably. Um, I should go. I have to get to work." He nodded and stepped to the side. I nodded and started to walk but he grabbed my elbow. I looked back over my shoulder and once again we made eye contact. His stupid green eyes were staring at me so intensely.

"Don't be a stranger, Kurt."


End file.
